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May 22, 2009
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I write the Labyrinth (trailing lines of ink)
I seek this comfort
I seek this flight
despite no conflict,
it is my right
It’s sweet caressing in the dawning hour
It’s the breaking sunrise and the budding flower
I take my pen
this sturdy friend
It’s the only constant in my life
Least ‘til it ends
I write the labyrinth and it brings me home
Lines of ink that trace my journey through this green and watery dome
I’d come to terms with it
In the solitude
I never dreamed I’d meet some others,
with matching attitude
We place the letters, knowing what will come
And indeed it is the greater
gathered, than the sum
I kiss the hungry pages
Daily from my nib
I feel these words were woven through me
since I burned the crib
I take a wilted moment,
then I feel the lift
And with every word I write
I feel perspective shift
It is a humble offering
Never a demand
I send my love, my grief, my swirling mirth
to find an open hand
And if it reaches you,
soft breath to your soul
Well maybe somehow we’re connected and a tiny bit more whole
That’s why I do it
Least I think maybe
I need to touch into another heart
and set some longing free
It’s my addiction,
and I know it could be worse
But mostly it’s a blessing to embrace the writers curse
I seek this flight
despite no conflict,
it is my right
It’s sweet caressing in the dawning hour
It’s the breaking sunrise and the budding flower
I take my pen
this sturdy friend
It’s the only constant in my life
Least ‘til it ends
I write the labyrinth and it brings me home
Lines of ink that trace my journey through this green and watery dome
I’d come to terms with it
In the solitude
I never dreamed I’d meet some others,
with matching attitude
We place the letters, knowing what will come
And indeed it is the greater
gathered, than the sum
I kiss the hungry pages
Daily from my nib
I feel these words were woven through me
since I burned the crib
I take a wilted moment,
then I feel the lift
And with every word I write
I feel perspective shift
It is a humble offering
Never a demand
I send my love, my grief, my swirling mirth
to find an open hand
And if it reaches you,
soft breath to your soul
Well maybe somehow we’re connected and a tiny bit more whole
That’s why I do it
Least I think maybe
I need to touch into another heart
and set some longing free
It’s my addiction,
and I know it could be worse
But mostly it’s a blessing to embrace the writers curse
— Cloudthings, May 22, 2009
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Critiques
Morgana Tragic…
17 years ago
Awwwwwww
Cloudthings
17 years ago
Thank you for the amazing compliment, it means a lot. There are
Geezer
17 years ago
Lady Luck .......
Nordic cloud
17 years ago
"somehow we’re connected and a tiny bit more whole"
Cloudthings
17 years ago
I can see how I have benefitted from this wonderful place on rea
Cloudthings
17 years ago
Hi lovely Blanka, thank you, I have changed that line a bit now
paparazii
17 years ago
We poets, there many of us in us
Cloudthings
17 years ago
And yes, I LOVE writing with pen & paper
iverhyck
17 years ago
Reply
Cloudthings
17 years ago
a gentle tune is a lovely way to describe that to me since my li
Cloudthings
17 years ago
there are some bits I like, cos it's about us... what WE do
Nordic cloud
17 years ago
Burning the Bhudda
Cloudthings
17 years ago
me too & back to you as well, you wonderful thing xxx
Ink Dragon
17 years ago
Hi Anni,
Cloudthings
17 years ago
fantastic quote, thank you Nina, lovely to see you here, with th
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